


Scratch

by msgenevieve



Category: Prison Break
Genre: Alternate Universe, Challenge Response, F/M, Het, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-05-30
Updated: 2008-05-30
Packaged: 2017-10-14 09:12:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/147689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/msgenevieve/pseuds/msgenevieve
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spontaneity is the spice of life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scratch

**Author's Note:**

> Written in response to an Anon Comment Porn Challenge that requested "Prison Break - Michael/Sara - red high heels".

~*~

 

 

Her heels are strappy, red and three inches high.

He stares at her feet, confusion sparking from one thought to the next, not understanding why the sight of them has rendered him speechless.

 _They're heels_ , his brain helpfully supplies, and he finally finds the presence of mind to blink. _Red high heels._

He has never seen her wearing heels. Never seen that arch in her spine, the sway of her hips as she walked into the room, the taut muscles in her calves and thighs. For a man who prides himself on knowing every square inch of her body, it is a revelation.

And a challenge.

"You look beautiful," he manages to say, and she smiles, pleasure crinkling the corners of her eyes.

"Thank you."

"What time are they expecting us?"

"Eight."

His hand closes over her shoulder, turning her around to face him. "Good."

Her heels are three inches high. Her mouth is perfectly aligned with his, his hands slipping easily beneath the floaty hem of her dress. His mouth explores the sweet heat of her mouth in the same instant as his searching fingers find the unprotected warmth between her thighs.

"What time are they really expecting us?"

Her smirk is as telling as the fact she seems to have forgotten to wear any lipstick. Or underwear. "Nine."

The dress slithers to the floor in a silky sigh, her clever hands making short work of his belt and trousers and boxers until there's only hard swell of flesh and the ache of need. When she reaches down to the strap of her left shoe, he lifts her onto the kitchen counter, thrusting into her in one raw, fierce slide. Her fingernails dig into his hips as they writhe together, and _holy fuck_ , his hands are gripping her ankles, his fingertips sliding over the red patent of her heels, the buckles pressing sharply into his skin and she's already gasping in his ear and shaking against him and he’s coming harder than he ever has in his life.

Afterwards, she daubs the scratches on the backs of his thighs with antiseptic, telling him it serves him right for making her keep the shoes on.

He regrets nothing.

 

 

~*~


End file.
